


in this exchange

by orphan_account



Category: Murderdolls (Band), Wednesday 13 (Band)
Genre: Biting, Emetophilia, Gross, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vomiting, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: yeah okay i know DON'T @ ME I BLAME ATLAS the existence of this is entirely his fault. i just wrote it. shut up. i may regret posting this, i may not. we'll see.those referenced or depicted are not associated with me or my writings in any sense of the word. i do not profit off of my work and this is not made with ill intent, just fucking around and having fun.
Relationships: Joseph Poole | Wednesday 13/Eric Griffin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	in this exchange

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clown_Teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clown_Teeth/gifts).



> yeah okay i know DON'T @ ME I BLAME ATLAS the existence of this is entirely his fault. i just wrote it. shut up. i may regret posting this, i may not. we'll see.  
> those referenced or depicted are not associated with me or my writings in any sense of the word. i do not profit off of my work and this is not made with ill intent, just fucking around and having fun.

Heave, choke and hiccup for breath, cough, heave, choke...

Wednesday kept a handful of his hair firmly, eagerly sucking and nipping murky red marks into the white of his neck. Eric couldn't even groan in denial, not around the fingers that were forced down his throat without drooling down his chin even further.

He managed to gurgle out a weak, undignified whine as he tried to lurch forward, words not coming. Wednesday clung tight to him, desperately grinding his hips up against the small of Eric's back.

Any semblance of a clear thought was smacked out of reach when knobby knuckles hit the roof of his mouth, fingertips forcing too deep and he retched, jerking forward to not vomit down his front.

Eric barely heard Wednesday panting excitedly, face pressed up into the side of his head. Heavy, humid breath barely spreading to the tip of his ear and the way his chest rose and fell against his back were his only signifiers, any sound blurred into nothing by a very sudden wash of alcoholic puke that spilled around the bulk of Wednesday's hand.

It stung the back of his throat, dull and searing both at once and a solid tear finally slipped down his cheek. He didn't even acknowledge it; he just wanted to get a breath in. He was not given the option.

"C'mon, you're okay..."

Wednesday murmured as he continued to jab frantically, making Eric seize and heave, eyes watering. His words contradicted his actions in some way or another; Eric would not be okay or "good" like he was whispering wet to him if he didn't take his hand out of his mouth and let him go. The flesh he had no choice but to taste was cold, rancid and slimy with vomit, making him gag further, vision blurred, and before he could think he was throwing up again. 

Eric hiccuped an involuntary sob, digging his nails into his thigh as he attempted to spit the taste out.

Wednesday hushed him like a spazz, holding him close but still not removing his digits, each spare twitch of his fingers sending Eric into an exhausting fit of coughs. He felt uncomfortably small and helpless, left with no options that appealed more than going limp, letting himself be putty. 

Wednesday kissed at his temple, mumbling nonsense that was thick with saliva as he pulled his hand back.

Eric sighed out, thankful, only to shift his jaw and groan weakly when he realized that his fingers had come to rest on the bed of his tongue.

Even in his sick haze, he was vaguely aware that he probably wanted him to suck-- he didn't want to put in the motion. He licked though, albeit reluctantly, reaching to hold his forearm where it was for some form of control, fingers sliding over his now cold drool that had managed to drip all the way down to where Wednesday's sleeve rolled up at his elbow. Shifting his tongue over the pads of his index and middle, he did his best to ignore the vile taste of half-metabolized booze that already burned going down the first time.

Wednesday hummed in approval, nudging Eric's folded legs open with his knee and attempting to trap him into the corner where the wall and the shower door met. He was too resigned to protest, moaning weakly around his fingers as Wednesday went to slip his dry hand under his shirt.

Slowly, he drew his hand back. Saliva fell from Eric's lips in strings, and he pulled in his first unrestricted breath of the past fifteen minutes. Only one, as Wednesday immediately met him in the middle afterwards, open-mouthed and desperate. 

Putty. All he was, just putty to be pulled and played with in whatever way was deemed fit. Eric kissed him back, giving in and propping his legs up over Wednesday's thighs as he slung an arm over his shoulders to get even closer.

Give _in,_ give _in,_ Wednesday's warm hands were sensory hell on cold sweat, give _in,_ he felt himself tearing up for whatever reason and held it back, give _in,_ Eric wanted him so fucking bad. He wanted him to keep touching him, wanted him to hold him up and fuck him, wanted him close, near, something, inside.

He was a mess. Such a mess, too easy and he didn't even care about it. Didn't mind being the bitch. Right now was real and it was fine. Horrible. Fine. Wednesday would lick his tears if he cried.


End file.
